Knee High by the 4th of July Read Online Free PDF

in March and was overall a sweet and harmless guy, if not the sharpest tool in the shed. I foresaw him living with his parents his entire life, a regular Battle Lake fixture. However, because he spent most of his time smiling and nodding his head, he didn’t possess a lot of credibility in town. “Chief Wenonga is gone!”
    I groaned. Of all the people to spread the news. And now I could surmise the worst, that the Chief wasn’t supposed to be gone. He had been stolen. Sid came out from the back room. “What’s that, Jedediah? Are you OK?”
    “The Chief Wenonga statue. It’s missing. It’s gone!”
    “You ever hear about the little boy who cried wolf, Jeddy?”
    The handful of patrons in the café laughed good-naturedly at the joke, but Jedediah’s face fell. His brown doe-eyes landed hopefully on me.
    I sighed and stood up, walking into the main room. “It’s true. I drove by there this morning. Chief Wenonga is gone.”
    Jed grinned like a football fan watching an overtime game who’s just discovered a fresh, whole Dorito in the crack of his recliner.
    “Why didn’t you say anything?” Sid asked me. Nancy came up behind and put her arm around her partner.
    I shrugged, feigning innocence. “I thought they took it as part of the Chief Wenonga Days deal. You think we should call someone?”
    “Ya!” Sid reverted to a good Norwegian brogue in times of stress. She dialed the Battle Lake Police Department, got through to someone, and in minutes, a Crown Vic sped past, siren blaring. I didn’t know if they were responding to my 911 or Sid’s call, but the results were the same.
    Most of the café customers were on the street by this time, gawking in the direction of the Shoreline. I shut down my computer, bundled up my uneaten bagel in a napkin, and jogged down the road. There was safety in numbers, and now I could snoop up close while the whole town milled about. Besides, I wanted to be there when Gary Wohnt discovered that somebody had stolen a twenty-three-foot heirloom on his watch.

Jed tagged along behind me. I tried to ignore the huffing and puffing caused by his ganja-restricted lungs, but when he started to suck in air like a vacuum with a hole in its bag, I slowed my sprint to a fast walk. I was dying to reach the scene of the crime in time to hear what the police made of the scalp, but not at the expense of Jed’s life.
    “I bet some kids stole the Chief.” Wheeze.
    “Maybe, Jed. You OK?”
    He puffed himself up a little but quickly realized he needed the air elsewhere and instead ran his hand through his sweaty curls. His black Phish T-shirt was plastered to his scrawny chest. It wasn’t even eight in the morning yet, and already it felt like Hell’s kitchen. “Oh, ya. I’m fine.” Wheeze. “I had a feeling something like this was going to happen. There’s street gangs forming in town.”
    We were coming down the hill. Battle Lake was glittering in the hot morning sun to our right, and a cop car was glittering to our left. Battle Lake Police Chief Gary Wohnt was leaning on his open Jeep door, radio in hand. I could hear his voice, but we were too far away to make out his words. “Where’d you hear that?”
    Jed hitched up his belt and pulled a pack of Jolly Ranchers from his back pocket. He offered me a watermelon one and popped it in his own mouth when I shook my head. “I’m not sure where. You know, I might just be thinking of a movie I saw. It’s hard to keep that stuff straight.”
    I shook my head. Jed was so transparently dorky that it was hard not to like him. “You want to go talk to Wohnt with me?”
    Jed’s face went white except for the bong-shaped ring of acne around his mouth. “Nah. You go on ahead.”
    I smiled at his back as he disappeared into the crowd, his shoulders hunched around his ears to make himself less visible. I strolled to Wohnt’s car, reaching it just as he clicked off the radio. “Secure area, Ms. James,” he barked.
    “Need help putting up